


The Talk, the Talk and Another Talk

by Gyptian



Series: Daemon I-Chaya [4]
Category: Golden Compass (2007), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyptian/pseuds/Gyptian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some tasks are traditionally performed by older male relatives. Bones is willing to fill the gap, as long as Kirk buys the drinks, even when he wants to talk about his marriage to the hobgoblin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sex

_I need you at the dimming of the day_

\- Dimming of the Day, The Corrs

 

<('-')>

 

_2258: Spock_

 

Laughter broke over his head as a wave would on the shores of which his mother had spoken often. Spock cancelled the train of thought.

 

The weeks they were to spend in close quarters had created a strong sense of fellowship amongst the crew, especially in the wake of the disaster that had called them out into the black before graduation. The presence of the refugees from Vulcan and the running and repair of a damaged ship gave the crew purpose.

 

It rendered the Vulcans impotent, fallen from a position of long-held intellectual superiority and into a vortex of emotional distress they were hard-pressed to begin to acknowledge.

 

His people hung on. A silent pact bound them to life. Their planet gone, their control failing, they still had their history. We have survived, it told them, we will survive again.

 

More than logic, more than peace, Surak had given them a narrative of a people capable of rebuilding their society from scratch.

 

Humans feared apocalypse. Vulcans faithfully passed on the knowledge that even an apocalypse of their own making had not killed them. We will survive, eyes that met in the corridor said, we know we can.

 

It did nothing to heal grief or assuage despair, but it kept them alive.

 

Spock was member of this pact. Vulcans did not _like_ him, thought he was a mongrel, but he was _their_ mongrel. They included him in their alliance of tradition. In return, he mediated between crew and refugees.

 

He spent the hours he was not on duty either helping with the botany project or drawing up plans to explore what survived of Vulcan on other planets, in museums and zoos and colonies.

 

He meditated.

 

Kirk... Jim... Spock did not know how to fit him into his changed life, so he did not. Attaining his t'hy'la , in the weeks he know of his existence, had seemed a distant dream. Kirk liked females and flings, not Vulcans and bonds. Yet both had been accepted in a single, explosive, soul-searing night.

 

He deleted that thought also. He shut away the feelings in a box. In the short term, suppression would have to serve.

 

His people had priority over his private life. The needs of the many... the many needs of the many needed his full attention.

 

While he was in the middle of formulating a polite query to the manager of one of the more obscure zoos, Kirk disturbed him in his quarters.

 

“Enter.” He continued typing while the human approached his desk and leaned on it.

 

“Spock,” Kirk said, urgency in his voice. He looked up. Out of uniform, the human looked harried and young and lost.

 

“Please sit. What can I do for you, Jim?”

 

The eye-contact seemed to settle the human. “I received a message, a personal one, but it looks bad. I wanted to ask you -” He was interrupted by the door buzzing again.

 

“Yes?” The door opened to reveal T'Mika, his partner in overseeing the botany project.

 

“You are needed in Hydroponic lab C. There is an issue I cannot solve alone.”

 

“I will join you momentarily.” She nodded to him, and stepped away. The door slid closed again.

 

Kirk's head was bowed now. “You're busy.”

 

“I am,” Spock confirmed, for it was a fact. His many responsibilities made for a demanding schedule.

 

Kirk nodded and left Spock's quarters without his customary greeting. Unsettled, Spock made his way to the lab.

 

<('-')>

 

_2255: Kirk_

 

It was in their second month at the Academy that Kirk wanted to ask a difficult question of Bones in his capacity as medical expert. It was related to his sexuality. In order to pre-empt demands of bribes, he took him to a bar. A watering hole, really, because most people were hiding their faces in glasses and socialising amongst patrons was done quietly, if it was done at all.

 

Bones needed four drinks before suffering any public breaches of dignity, so it was while Jim bought the fifth drink that it happened.

 

Leonard McCoy had a lovely mane of dark, thick hair. His daemon, Skoptili, loved to lie in it for a nap. So every time the doctor was sufficiently mellow, the hedgehog made her way up his back and into his hair so she could bed down.

 

Kirk paused on his way back from the bar, several feet from the table, waiting until he was sure he wouldn't laugh. Darkly handsome and brooding, the doctor was, his head cupped in one hand and his elbow leaning on the table, eyes surveying the world and finding it wanting. With Skoptili perched on top of him, he was tranformed into a conehead with a densely spiked scalp.

 

“Shut up,” Bones said to Kirk when he handed him his drink.

 

“Yes, doctor.”

 

Bones's dark gaze found Kirk even more lacking than the rest of the world. “What do you want, Kirk? You're buttering me up but you haven't even hinted at the cause yet.”

 

“I'm that transparent?” Kirk asked. The scowl was sufficient response.

 

“I'm a doctor. That translates to having a measure of intelligence, doing a lot of hard work and knowing many, many creepy illnesses and complaints I could inflict on you.”

 

Kirk laughed now. “Alright. Er, it's about sexuality.”

 

“Whose? Your next conquest?”

 

“Mine."

 

Bones gave his emptied glass to Kirk. “I'm still too sober.”

 

Two drinks later, Bones nodded and motioned for Kirk to speak.

 

Kirk breathed out. “Alright, here it is. I've... dated women, a lot and... that's fine. But now, here.” He waved a hand. “We're at Starfleet and I'm finding that... that... well, it's been awhile since the last girl caught my eye. And... and... I experimented a bit yeah, but I never went beyond first base with guys, never wanted to.”

 

Bones grunted. “You're worried about your status as a ladies' man?”

 

“Sort of. Is it... normal for this sort of thing to change when you get older? I mean, I thought you figured this stuff out in your teens. I'm old.”

 

The doctor contemplated the bottom of his empty glass. “It can happen, yeah, at any age. With you? It'd figure you'd be an equal opportunity kind of guy in terms of sex, so it's probably more to do with the people on offer and how they're responding to you. The Academy's probably the first place you're around the type of guy that's really made your dick sit up and take notice.” Despite the seven drinks now under his belt, Bones managed this with a straight face.

 

“You have no class.”

 

“Nope. Country doctor to simple folk, me.” He leaned back in his chair, until a long, long pale neck was exposed and Skoptili, now vertical, fell to the floor with a squeak. “Listen kid,” he told the ceiling. “Sexuality's more complicated than a sliding button between “male” and “female” or an on-off switch. It's an entire board with all sorts of dials and knobs and gears that determine the degree you're attracted to someone. You have a high libido when it comes to the girls, so your dial for women's probably set to eleven. Chances are, your dial for guy's on an average five, so you're more picky when it comes to that gender. Which means you didn't find the guy that does it for you in Riverside.”

 

Kirk nodded. “So, these factors...? It can be anything?”

 

“Yeah, hairdo, body parts, personality, environment, smell, kinks...” He sat up straight again. “And I've answered your question so this is the end of the conversation. I don't want to hear anything about your conquests except the hours our room is occupied, capiche?”

 

Kirk grinned. “Even when the conquest is you? Dark-haired, intelligent, slender, puts up with me... just my type.”

 

Bones's face contorted into a truly magnificent snarl that involved teeth gnashing. He shoved his glass forward and pointed at it. “Get-” He was cut off when Skoptili struck him with her spikes in revenge for making her fall on the floor.

 

Kirk quickly made off with the glass. In gratitude, he helped Bones get well and truly plastered and dragged him to bed afterwards. His own bed, and only undressed him in order change him into his pyjamas.

 

The next morning, pillow over his eyes, Bones asked, “Did you honestly proposition me yesterday, after asking me it was alright if you got more in touch with your gay side at the ripe old age of twenty-two?”

 

Kirk patted the pillow. “Yes. It was meant as a compliment.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“If you're interested, though...”

 

The Academy was treated to the sight of two first-year students chasing each other between buildings half-clothed, a hedgehog hopping along behind like a flustered duckling.

 

<('-')>

 

_2258: Spock_

 

After he and Nyota started their lunch performances, his people relaxed gradually.

 

T'Mika complimented him on the originality of his relaxation technique. Musical performances had not been used in that capacity on Vulcan for some time. He accepted it. They worked together more as days went by.

 

So the second time his Captain came to his quarters to request if they could have a private conversation about an unspecified personal issue, he had to refuse.

 

“My apologies, Jim, T'Mika and I are developing a new strategy for the preservation of the Vulcan flora while it is on Earth.”

 

“Oh.” Kirk hesitated. “Can you do breakfast, then?”

 

“I will not partake in that meal in the coming three days.”

 

“Er. Dinner?”

 

“I am taking dinner with Nyota during a short break in our evening practice.”

 

“Do you have _any_  time to spare?”

 

“No.”

 

Kirk left. Spock felt unease crawl over his shields, but shut it out. Kirk's emotional issues could be solved by exercise or talking to the medical staff. They were approaching Earth, there would be sufficient time to build a relationship between them then. They were likely to be granted leave by the Admiralty.


	2. Marriage

_2258: Spock_

 

His Captain was almost as busy as he, Spock knew. How he found the time to idle in front of Spock's door was a mystery.

 

He had not missed Kirk. His days were already too full with social interaction to his taste, the mental support he needed he received from a contented I-Chaya playing with Hayfever. It was exactly the reason daemon and Vulcan were separated, so they could act independently for everyone's health and benefit.

 

Still, this was his t'hy'la. If he required something, Spock would provide it.

 

“What can I do for you, Jim?”

 

The question brought a smile to the man's face, a small one devoid of joy. “I just wanted to talk.”

 

“About?”

 

Kirk stared at him. “Do I need to submit a list of topics beforehand?”

 

“I would prefer it, so the conversation may be concluded as soon as possible. I wish to meditate before meeting with Nyota.”

 

“I see. Alright Mr. Spock, I'll leave you to it.” He walked to his own door.

 

Spock entered his quarters, seated himself on his mat and sank into his own mind. His shields were in place. Kirk's open mind provided mental feedback, together with I-Chaya and Hayfever. Together, they formed a tripod, a firm base for Spock's mental balance.

 

Kirk's emotions leaned towards the negative, but they were well within reasonable limits. It stood to reason he would not feel cheerful just prior to a conference call with the Admiralty when the subject on the agenda was command decisions the Narada incident.

 

I-Chaya was at peace, as was Hayfever. All was well.

 

<('-')>

 

_2256: Kirk_

 

Their second year, McCoy was testing out of a lot of classes because he'd been a practicing doctor. The only parts of training he still needed were Starfleet military training and all courses in Xenobiology and Xenochemistry.

 

It was the week of Joanna's birthday. The annual call had been cancelled because she was sick, or so Jocelyn claimed. She did not allow Bones to reschedule the call. He'd gone and got himself plastered every night so far. Kirk had given himself an unofficial holiday to take care of his friend. He had silent permission from several sympathetic teachers. The other ones couldn't complain too loud with the grades he was getting. And if he had to explain skipping classes to some flunky he was fully prepared to do so. He had an essay on loyalty amongst comrades prepared.

 

“Why'd you marry her?” he asked his friend when Bones was three sheets to the wind. It was the only time to question his friend, because he wouldn't remember it in the morning, or pretend he didn't.

 

“She was so, so gor-gor, beau...pretty! All curls and smiles and dimples and... and... I was the luckiest kid in school, Jim, the day she accepted my offer to go to the prom with her.”

 

An hour later, mostly spent in silence, he added, “Was good, y'know? First year, second one too.” He was slumped against the wall, thousand-yard stare aimed at his feet. “Wewere 'appy, me jus' a medical stu'ent and her law stu'ent, but then internships started and all compet-peterturf. With lotsa enemies 'n stuff. She changed. I did too. Tried a kid. Din' work.” He shrugged. “So...the end.” He turned his head to the side. “You ever been married?” he asked, because he didn't know Jim from Adam when he was stupid from alcohol.

 

He was also a great listener, because he commented not at all, but he showed more signs of life than a wall or a holo of Jim's dad. “Yeah.” Bones' only response was to roll his head slightly to the side, so he was staring at Jim's feet instead.

 

“It was after Tarsus. The survivors stuck together, because it felt like it was us against the universe, at that point. Nobody'd understand.” A bitter chuckle escaped Kirk. “I mean, who knows what it's like to live through the end of a world, to be the last remnant of an entire population?”

 

“So... there was this girl. If our group was the Lost Boys and I was Peter, y'know, the leader, she was definitely Wendy. She kept her wits about her and knew tons about living in the wild. She'd gone survivaling like, every summer with her parents, all over the world, so she knew loads of tricks about how to build covers that would survive the rain and beds from nothing but grass. She was half the reason we survived. Had a bobcat for a daemon.

 

“I kind of had a crush on her even in that hell, but you don't start anything at the end of the world, we were way too busy. But I told her and promised her I'd take her on a date if we'd ever get out of there. So I did, and another one and we sort of kept dating. It was after therapy let us go into town unsupervised so we were what, sixteen?”

 

“Yeah, well, after we got booted out by our caretakers to return to our families or whatever, neither of us wanted to. We decided to get a place together, but the only way we could afford it was with all the benefits of a married couple. So one afternoon we took a bunch of friends to the nearest city hall and signed a two-year contract, to tide us over until we were grown. It was all a big joke, y'know, and an excuse to have a big bash at our apartment. As far as we were concerned we were just friends with benefits.

 

“She got sick of me at seventeen, a few months after things started turning sour, because neither of us were ready to play nice or live any kind of sane life. She left and I never saw her again. Couldn't contact her and I tried.”

 

He sighed. “I think that for the law I'm still married, too. It was one of those self-renewing contracts that needs a six-month notice from both parties if you want out. It was the only contract serious enough to get us the tax breaks and social benefits we needed to get the rent paid and food on the table. Since she's missing...” He chuckled. “Funny that. I guess it means I'm cheating, technically.”

 

He stopped talking when he turned his head to the side and saw that behind the alcohol haze, Bones's eyes were sharp. He'd remember this.

 

He'd unwittingly told him a part of his past he'd never meant to reveal to anyone.

 

The next morning, he lingered awkwardly in the doorway to the bathroom while McCoy was brushing his teeth. His roommate rolled his eyes. “So you know what it's like to live with a shrew, to screw up. Makes it easier to talk about for me, alright?” he said around his toothbrush. And that, as far as Bones was concerned, was that.

 

If Kirk gave him an unmanly hug from behind, that was their secret. Bones didn't drink again that week.

 

<('-')>

 

_2258: Spock_

 

“Spock...” Kirk paused when he saw Spock was not alone in the lab. T'Mika and he were subjecting a few plants to miniature recreations of Terran climates, contained by small forcefields, to see which one was least harmful. It was a delicate experiment.

 

“Do you require assistance, Captain?”

 

“No.” Kirk left.

 

In 1.84 days, they would arrive on Earth. Ensuring the expanding collection of Vulcan plants survived was crucial. 

 

Spock turned back to the latest test. Earth humidity, the trickiest factor to control. 


	3. Relationships

_2258: Spock_

 

Kirk passed Spock in the hallway several more times off-duty, nodding to him and either T'Mika or Nyota, depending on who accompanied Spock.

 

<('-')>

 

_2258: Kirk_

 

A marriage did not a relationship make, and no one knew it better than Kirk. It didn't truly hit home, however, until Spock invariably dismissed him every time he tried to talk to him. Every time the pretty Vulcan lady interrupted, or was already there. At Spock's side all the time. Nyota he could understand, she'd been friends with Spock for years, buddies with a mutual witchy ancestry. But a strange Vulcan? A _female_ Vulcan? A _pretty, talkative, helpful_ female Vulcan working together with Spock what seemed like every hour of the day?

 

In the end, he gave up. He had questions about Vulcans and Vulcan customs, of which there was zero in the databanks and the one trip into Spock's head, either of the Spocks, had been more overwhelming, in a good way, than informative.

 

So.

 

In the third week, Vulcans were co-operating with McCoy and improving visibly. Kirk braved his territory and settled himself in his office and helped himself to a good glass of something illegal brought on board by the late doctor Puri, because no way that McCoy could afford it.

 

“What are you doing here?” Bones asked when he plopped into his seat, tired and disheveled and as smug as Hayfever after catching several mice.

 

“Drinking myself into oblivion because I'm a newly-wed and hating it.”

 

“Huh?” McCoy's eyebrow-wiggle wouldn't have misstood on Spock's face. “Weren't you already secretly married to some chick that disappeared?”

 

“Yeah. I also sort of bonded myself to Spock. It was an impulsive decision.”

 

“That's the only sort of decision you ever make,” McCoy said, who was used to quite an amount of stunts but had to decompress from his irritation with the latest one with a deep sigh. “So, I'm assuming this is the kind of Vulcan-voodoo-marriage that you can't annul?”

 

Kirk nodded. That much he had been able to glean for himself from less than informative back-ups of Vulcan's version of Memory Alpha.

 

“You want a toaster?”

 

He shook his head.

 

McCoy folded his arms, leaned over his desk and did another eyebrow wiggle. “How far into this funk are you?”

 

“I've had a couple of weeks to stew, between shifts and insane amounts of paperwork,” Kirk responded dryly.

 

McCoy cursed. “Alright, I want the whole story.”

 

Kirk told him, without graphic detail, about the night he'd shared with Spock. And the complete shut-down of that same Spock, open and wonderful and loving, passionate bondmate afterwards.

 

“So he went from burning to freezing?”

 

“Yep.” Kirk sat back in his chair, toyed with the still-full glass. He hadn't had an appetite for anything since the message he'd received two days after that night with Spock. “I haven't even been able to talk to him long enough to ask why. The only time I see him is on duty, and even then not very often. He's on the bridge only when I'm not, it seems.”

 

“Ah...” McCoy looked down at his desk. “Jim, this question is very important, so I want you to think about it well. What did Spock name the relationship you had with him? How did he describe it?”

 

“Uhm...” Kirk cocked his head. There had been the Vulcan word for bonding, but also... “T'hy'la?” And a definition he wasn't going to forget anytime soon. “Friend, brother, lover, he said it meant. I-Chaya too.”

 

McCoy nodded. “Alright... I think that's what I think it is.” He looked up. “As medical professional, I get a bit more information on how Vulcan bonding works than the average Joe. Not much, mind, almost nothing on sex or rituals, but enough to know how to treat someone whose bond is broken or not functioning for whatever reason.”

 

Kirk perked up. “Really? Can you tell me? I mean, any information would be good at this point. I have zero, except that it's deep shit and permanent and apparently my human expectations are all wrong.”

 

McCoy nodded. “You're right about that last part. Expectations, I mean.” He tented his fingers in front of his face and stared between them, back into the few classes he'd had about this. “I think we ought to start with a history lesson.”

 

Kirk groaned.

 

McCoy ignored him. “On Earth, homosexual relationships were either illegal or controversial for a long time. When they were finally accepted, conventional relationships, heterosexual ones, were used as a template. Simply put, each same-sex relationship, from one-night-stand to marriage, came to be treated the same as its heterosexual equivalent.”

 

He breathed out heavily. “Not so on Vulcan. Relationships between warriors were accepted, encouraged even, in pre-Surakian times. That did not free them from the duty to produce heirs for their clan. So often, warriors had both a wife and what was known as a shieldmate, like a professional partner is to humans, I guess, only closer.” He looked up at Kirk, who'd gone pale and still. “This is all the information we have of them, Jim, so we know that historically, a large part of the population is bisexual. If their love of tradition's any indication, marriage today works like marriage back then, except relationships between two people of the same gender is rarer, because it's mostly for pleasure's sake and that's illogical to most hobgoblins.” He hesitated. “That's what I got from my colleague and he's the best around when it comes to Vulcans.”

 

The heavy clink of glass put down too quickly on wood made him look up. Kirk had his head in his hands, trembled even. “Hey!” McCoy rose and put a hand on Kirk's shoulder. “What's this?”

 

“I” _I have a crush on him, a big fat crush, and I have to get rid of it somehow before it kills me,_ Kirk didn't say. “I guess I thought we'd be exclusive. Vulcans are always going on about their monogamy.”

 

McCoy nodded. “True, but they do not regard a relationship with a man the same as a relationship with a woman. Which means they can have both and still consider themselves monogamous. Only the heterosexual bond is a marriage, after all.” He rubbed his hands over Kirk's back. “What's bothering you about this? I know you like the hobgoblin... but you have to give him the space he needs to grieve. He lost his planet.”

 

Kirk inhaled, exhaled. He made sure his spine was straight before replying. “Yes. He lost much. He'll... need a new wife. Help rebuild his population.” He closed his eyes. What had Spock taken away from their night? Balance, right? It'd restored him to a place where he could function. A strong tie to another mind that kept him in one piece. He'd helped Spock heal. He'd just have to be satisfied with that.

 

If he wanted more, he needed to deal with that desire. Lock it away, purge it. He'd need some space.

 

Well, that was good, because that simply meant he shouldn't issue Spock the invitation about which he'd given up on talking to him anyway.

 

He smiled at McCoy. “Guess I won't have to give up on my womanising ways after all, eh, Bones?”

 

“Yeah,” McCoy said, and decided against mentioning the pain he could see behind Kirk's pretence. That particular smile hadn't fooled him since the second week of their frienship.

 

<('-')>

 

_2258: Spock_

 

The last 1.4 days before arriving on Earth were hectic. Sulu had regularly questioned his right to breathe between tasks on the bridge, in an acerbic tone of voice.

 

When the Enterprise was docked and the first batch of crew leaving for Earth, Spock sat down to catch up on his personal messages. The first was an invitation from his father to share his quarters, more spacious than standard issue. The Vulcans were quartered on Starfleet grounds, taking up all guest quarters and senior cadet quarters, where the graduating cadets were normally housed.

 

The cadets had all been granted leave, effective immediately, and orders, politely phrased, to find an inconspicuous place to stay while the media frenzy died down and Starfleet dealt with the Vulcans and their immediate needs. Most were taking the opportunity to stay with family, to work through grief.

 

The first reports about the Narada incidents as well as follow-up had been dealt with over subspace. Debriefing could wait until Starfleet's security could be spared to watch the suddenly-famous crew of the Enterprise.

 

All senior crew was to go to into hiding somewhere outside of California.

 

Spock was the one exception. He was accompanying the refugees who had come to Earth aboard the Enterprise to quarters and would become an official liaison between Vulcans and Starfleet, freeing his father to deal with larger political issues.

 

The last message in his queue gave him pause.

 

 _Spock,_ it read.

_We haven't been able to talk these past few days. Obviously, and quite correctly, your duties to your people took priority over whatever relationship we now have._

_I had a few questions about our relationship, but Bones has been able to answer those. The other thing... well... I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to meet a friend, but it doesn't matter._

_I was expecting too much. These relationships are not exclusive, Bones explained. I understand you need to find a wife as soon as possible, especially with the Vulcan population so few in number. Our connection is helping you stay healthy and enables you to do so._

_I have some urgent personal business to take care of, related to that friend, so don't worry about me getting in your way while you court her. I'll ask Selik, a Vulcan elder I happened to meet during our mission, to teach me to shield so you won't even notice me yammering at you mentally. I tend to talk to myself a lot inside my mind._

_I am happy I can provide you with the stability you need to start building a future. I wish you and T'Mika all the best. I do hope you will return to the Enterprise when she ships out again. You have my back like no one else does, except Bones. She can come with us, your wife, I checked, civilian life-partners of Vulcans are allowed on board, because they're listed as essential for your health. You'll have to explain that to me sometime._

_Your shieldmate,_

_Jim._

 

He shut off his terminal. In shock.

 

Why had he allowed Kirk to develop such misconceptions about their bond?

 

A dozen opportunities to explain, and he'd allow Jim to find information elsewhere and draw all the wrong conclusions.

 

He sat back and breathed out, for the first time in weeks unlocking the memories of that night. Such perfect accord had existed between them, a merging of souls the likes of which he'd never experienced. He had let himself think it would preclude the need for communication. His t'hy'la would understand, he had said to himself, after all, they were so compatible, how could they ever misunderstand each other? Their rapport had carried them forward in the first days after.

 

Kirk had understood. Understood the need for him to be there for his people. Had honoured his dismissals to the point where he had given up on contacting Spock.

 

Spock, in return, had not approached Kirk, had focused on his job as a commander, on what he could do for other Vulcans. Apparently self-absorption had been taken for a lack of interest in Kirk altogether. He had asked his doctor, probably gotten a general history on the t'hy'la bond and thought... thought Spock would have a wife on the side, as warriors had had in the past.

 

This needed to be straightened out immediately, lest Kirk thought it meant he could continue his string of affairs. That could not be allowed. He was _Spock's_ now.

 

He fled his quarters and buzzed for entrance at Kirk's quarters. He'd be packing his bags. Hand-over of the bridge to the repair crew had been an hour ago.

 

No one answered.

 

“Computer, locate Captain Kirk.”

 

“Captain Kirk has left the ship.”

 

“What was his destination?”

 

“That information is classified.” He tried every security clearance he had, even a diplomatic one he held as his father's former aide, to no avail.

 

 _Jim!_ He called in his mind for the first time in weeks. No one responded, though he could sense his call was not blocked. Not yet. _Jim, please!_ He was somewhere far away, perhaps on the planet, because Spock could hardly read him.

 

<('-')>

 

Sickbay was fully staffed, even three hours after it was supposed to be empty. Nurses were either doing a final inventory or transferring all details of the Vulcans' files from several biobeds and terminals onto data crystals. McCoy would take those with him to hand them over personally to the personnel assigned to the refugees from Starfleet Medical.

 

The man was dedicated.

 

Spock entered the Doctor's office while he was in the middle of a conversation. “...don't care, Jocelyn!” He looked up. “Excuse me, duty calls.” He pressed the button to terminate the connection. “What can I do for you, Commander?”

 

“Where's Jim?” was all Spock could think to ask, through the fuzz that was beginning to rise in his mind, as if he had a blockade in his sinuses.

 

“Gone.” The doctor crossed his arms. “Even I don't know where to. I tried to check when he jumped the queue for beaming down without telling me. Which means this is classified and there's only one shitstorm in Jim's life that big.” Blue eyes were now turned inward. “Tarsus.”

 

“I must speak to him.” His sight was turning monochrome.

 

McCoy shrugged. “Join the club. You'll have to wait until he turns up again.” The words came from far away.

 

For a moment, Spock was alone in his head. He lost all sense of self.

 

<('-')>

 

He returned to consciousness. _Jim?_ The question bounced off a solid shield. Hayfever's presence had gone as well. I-Chaya was close. The mental ping he sent his way was returned with the reverberation of a growl.

 

 _You abandoned him. You saddened him. He has fled._ Spock opened his eyes at the accusations of his daemon. Bared teeth filled his vision. He closed them again.

 

 _It is a misunderstanding. I must talk to him and explain the status of our relationship. The needs of the many, the needs of Vulcan took precedence and I let it for too long. I have neglected him._ The loneliness in his mind was sufficient punishment to keep him from repeating the mistake.

 

 _The rights of t'hy'la are inviolable. Nothing takes precedence._ The convictions were sub-verbal, echoes from the subconscious, deeply held convictions I-Chaya and Spock shared. They came straight from their race's collective mind, which normally touched only their deepest dreams. _You allowed your bond to whither. He has withdrawn and now shielded himself entirely and gone into danger alone. We cannot protect him._ A whine deep, deep with pain filled the room.

 

Spock now did open his eyes. His sense of self, for so many days profiting from a bond he'd done nothing to nurture, now needed to be rebalanced on a single pole, his daemon's support. “Hayfever,” he asked in a husking voice. He was lying on a biobed, a glass of water had been provided. He grasped it.

 

I-Chaya had had his paws on the side of his bed, his head over Spock, now he withdrew to a corner and into a huddle.

 

The doctor entered. “Hey, did you hurt yourself in my Sickbay?” He had one spiked shoulder, his hedgehog nestled against his neck.

 

“It is not a type of pain you can heal, Doctor,” Spock said, his eyes on I-Chaya. The pain radiating from his daemon now stood in stark contrast to the happiness of weeks past.

 

“I'll need you to give me a very good reason for me to believe that.” The doctor had already pulled a tricorder from somewhere, a gentle glow at its top indicating it was calibrated to daemons.

 

“I... Jim, believing he was somehow in my way, has shielded himself from me while we were...” Spock frowned. How much did the doctor know?

 

Knowing blue eyes took in Vulcan and daemon. “I've got a colleague who's worked with Vulcans for many years. M'Benga. He said the worst fate for them is to be separated from their mate.”

 

Spock nodded. “In life as well as death, Doctor, and most especially when they might be in danger.” He swallowed. “Jim could not have devised a better punishment for my neglect of him if he had tried.”

 

“And he thinks he's doing you a favour.”

 

“Yes. That might be the worst of all. He possesses self-sacrifice in an amount that is in excess of what is healthy for him.”

 

“That's an understatement.”

 

After a moment's silence, McCoy approached the biobed. “Then I'm attaching myself to you as your personal doctor, and you're my patient either until Jim turns up again or some ass-hat paparazzo drives me to murder him. Starfleet can spare the security to guard a country doctor and I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

 

Spock found the energy to raise his head and acknowledge the offer. “I thank you for the offer of support, doctor, but I assure you it is unnecessary. I am sure that you have -”

 

McCoy grunted. “I have no family to hide with except a daughter I'm not allowed to see and a wife who's demanding part of my bonus instead of congratulating me for surviving. I was going to rent a cabin somewhere, but now I won't have to.”

 

I-Chaya turned his back on the doctor when he came close. McCoy continued his scan unperturbed. “Doctor, Starfleet provides -”

 

A held-up hand cut him off. “Jim's the closest thing I have to a brother, and you Vulcan-voodoo-married Jim, in some sort of unbreakable bond, for better and for worse, excetra. Which to me is permission for unlimited interference.”

 

He flipped the tricorder closed, turned back to Spock and bared his teeth. “Consider me your monster-in-law.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is continued in the next part of this series, currently in progress.


End file.
